we should get jerseys (cause we make a good team)
by sarasidles
Summary: Patrick Jane owns a coffee shop. Teresa Lisbon is his favourite customer. [coffee shop au]


I've gone insane. There's no other explanation. This is ridiculous and dorky and half a holiday fic? THE HIATUS BROKE ME.

* * *

If you asked Patrick Jane what on earth possessed him to open a coffee shop, he'd probably spin you some tale about the medical benefits of proximity to caffeine and a deep emotional need in the human psyche. The truth is, he got spectacularly drunk one night, made a lot of spontaneous investments, and then couldn't be bothered to reverse them in the morning. Still, he can be charming when he wants to be and some people end up buying at least three cups before they even realise they're inside and so Jane ends up keeping the place open mostly for the amusement factor. (That's just the surface answer, though. The deeper truth is one with a selfish man and wet gravel and a little blonde girl and – well. We'll get to that later.)

For a coffee shop, the mornings are surprisingly slow – they're not placed near enough to any of the local colleges to attract the truly hung-over and while there's the nine am convergence of business folk, the place is practically empty again come ten. It's the afternoon rush they rely on, the elderly and the families with kids young enough to be impressed by Jane's antics. Mornings are still really, really dull though and usually he just makes Cho open while he naps. Delegation is an important management skill.

This morning, however, it's barely past seven am when the bell above the door chimes and a pretty, although tired looking, dark haired woman steps through. Jane grins. Look like his morning might be worthwhile after all.

"Hi," She mumbles, running a hand through messy hair, eyes still halfway shut. "Can I get a –"

"Ah ah ah!" He holds up one finger, cutting her off. She blinks, startled. "What if I told you I could correctly deduce the drink you desire, all through the power of mind reading?" He sweeps one arm out and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

The woman blinks again and then glances towards the door, as if calculating how fast of a get away she can make. This is a gesture Jane is rather familiar with. "Um –"

"It's only seven am in the morning and yet, despite being clearly exhausted, you already look vaguely twitchy. Assuming you aren't any kind of other substance abuser and you don't look the type, that tells me that this is your first, but not last, cup of the day. I've never seen you here before and we're pretty exclusive so this is a last resort, something prevented you from going to your usual coffeehouse, and yet you're willing to try somewhere new, meaning your poison of choice isn't gimmicky or particularly hard to make. You're not only slim but muscular, which suggests a good diet, but I'll bet anything you've got a hidden sweet tooth so I'm going to go with …. a plain caffè latte, topped with a hint of caramel."

All she can manage in return is a nod.

"You need to stop doing that," Cho calls from behind the counter where he's begun to prepare the drink, "People think you're stalking them. Last week a woman actually ran out of the store."

"Meh, it added atmosphere. Besides, I think our current customer is made of sterner stuff than that." He winks, cheerful at once again a successful guess, and grabs a sharpie pen. "Name?"

"Lisbon," is the brisk reply and he pauses. There's nothing wrong with the name, of course, but it's a little strange and definitely not what he would've expected of her. She glances up in time to catch his frown – he's never wrong – and flushes. "I mean, Teresa. Uh, Lisbon is my last name. I'm a cop, it's – I'm used to it. Whatever is fine." She then looks faintly horrified at having divulged so much information and busies herself with her purse.

"Lisbon it is." He says, the name rapidly growing on him, and scrawls it in large loopy letters across her cup before sliding it across. As he does so, he chances another glance at her and now can't believe he didn't guess she was police right away – everything from her formal stance to the set of her mouth to the sleep at the corner of her eyes as though she'd been recently dragged awake suggests law enforcement.

"Thanks," She mutters, already gulping down coffee at an alarming speed. Definitely police.

"My name's Jane," He offers, when she doesn't ask. "Patrick, actually, but since we're already on a last name basis."

"Well, thank you, Mr Jane," Lisbon amends, before yet another desperate mouthful and, yeah, he was definitely right about this not being her last.

"Big meeting today?" He asks, suddenly filled with the desire to prolong their conversation. She still looks a little out of sorts and yet Jane's pretty sure that not all her anxiety stems from the name slip, if her constant glancing at the clock behind him is anything to go by.

This time, she doesn't look surprised at the guess, just a little irritated. "You're awfully nosy, aren't you?"

"So they say." He agrees and then adopts a low accent: "What is it, copper, interrogation gone wrong? Need to smack down a perp? Question, do you actually say that or it is just in the movies?"

"Goodbye Mr. Jane." Lisbon says firmly but he can tell she's working hard to tamper down the smile tugging her lips.

He salutes her. "Go save the world, Teresa Lisbon!"

(What she mutters under her breath in return is not very saviour-like.)

* * *

To his delight, Teresa Lisbon quickly becomes a permanent (if somewhat snarky) feature every Monday morning, Tuesday afternoon and Friday evening. He would ask her what happened to her old one but he's working on the assumption that it's best not remind her there's other people on the world who can provide her with caffeine. She drops the 'mister' part of his name soon enough but still refuses to call him Patrick, with the argument that why should she, when he still calls her Lisbon. Each time she does come back, he tries his best to guess her order and while she occasionally changes her drink depending on the time of day and how harassed she looks, he's starting to suspect that she's also trying to catch him out. Honestly, this only makes the game more fun. Most people are suitably awed by his predictions, to the point where they've gotten business on word of mouth alone, and all their other repeat customers stick to the same choice each time. Teresa Lisbon is a challenge.

It's not until mid December (almost a month after her first visit, not that he's counting) that this routine changes - she hurries in and is already asking for a black coffee before he can even begin their usual back and forth. Sure, it's disappointing, especially since he had an excellent opening already planned out, but also intriguing. Jane is all for intriguing.

"Whatever is the matter, Lisbon?" He asks. "You only drink black coffee when you're really stressed. Is there been a particularly nefarious suspect on the loose? Do share."

She groans in response, slumping in her seat and definitely looking stressed. He makes sure to add more caramel to her drink than usual and, dramatically shielding the cup from her view, adds some extra Sharpie touches.

"What's all this?" Lisbon asks when he proudly passes it across, squinting at first him and then offending object. She points to his addition. "Is that supposed to be a dog?"

"It's a reindeer. And all this?" He mimics her gesture, "Is called Christmas cheer, Lisbon. The cups are now red and green to help celebrate all which is merry. I can understand your confusion."

"Shut up, Jane." She tells him, fishing change out of her pocket for the tinselled tip jar and sending Cho a wave. They've become sort of friends, Lisbon and Cho, which makes sense considering their similarities in personality and ability in dealing with him. (He told Cho this after her third visit, meaning it as compliment, and Cho had said that he really hoped Jane didn't look at him the same way Jane looked at Lisbon).

"Oh, Lisbon," He sighs. "So angry for someone so small."

She removes the plastic lid from her coffee, licks at the foam there (Jane firmly does not think about this), and throws it at him. He feigns injury and begs the shop at large to perform a citizen's arrest for police brutality. Unfortunately, everyone around at this time of the day is pretty much used to him and thus they all completely ignore him. Lisbon smirks, nice and slow. Teresa Lisbon is definitely his favourite customer.

"This is getting pathetic." Cho tells him, the third time he catches Jane eyeing the door in wait. "Just ask her out like an actual adult."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," Jane retorts. He would regret hiring Cho, who seems to view Jane as more of a general nuisance than technically his employer, except that Cho is the main reason they're still open, so. (It turns out, running a coffee shop had been slightly more difficult than Jane had first anticipated and also Jane has no idea how to really make any drink aside from tea.) Plus, Cho is right. He does really want to ask Lisbon out, it's just – well, it'd be the first woman since Angie. He hasn't told Cho about Angie, hasn't told anyone, mostly because he can't bear to see the pity in their eyes but also because he's still too vain to open himself to judgement. No matter how many times Sophie told him it wasn't his fault, he knows that it was, because it certainly wasn't Angela's or Lottie's and they wouldn't have even been there if not for -

Unfortunately, it's at that point in his thoughts that Lisbon herself steps through the door - with a tall and disturbingly handsome man in tow. He mutters something to her and she nods, fumbling for her phone. Jane's stomach drops.

"Bad luck, man." Cho says, slapping him on the back as he passes by.

Lisbon's on the phone for most of the time, her body angled slightly away as she barks out instructions, and so the man orders for them both. Jane doesn't even get to guess because Lisbon's apparent boyfriend strikes up a conversation with Cho instead, the traitor.

(He also purchases four of their jam donuts, which is just unfair because Jane was eyeing them off for his lunch break. You can't have everything.)

* * *

Ever since Angela and Charlotte, the holidays have always been a difficult time for him. He had the shop last year though and the distraction it provided from his bleak little apartment had made the week leading up to Christmas if not pleasant than at least bearable. Because of this, he may have gone … somewhat overboard in the decoration. Three different wreaths are plastered to the door, cups of candy canes adorn each table, and if maybe he'd put up some extra mistletoe this year then that's purely by coincidence and certainly not related to anyone in particular.

"Merry Christmas, Saint Teresa!" Jane says, singsong, when Lisbon arrives for her usual Monday seven am fix. Cho mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "pathetic" and the petite figure in the doorway lets out a sigh of despair.

"Aren't you going to say Merry Christmas back?" He inquires innocently, smiling wide when she doesn't reply. "Charming little moniker, I would think."

"Yes, you would think." Lisbon says, rather in the same tone one would say I have a terminal illness. "Where did you hear that from?"

"Well," He says, leaning across the counter as she approaches. "I already knew your name – didn't know the exact spelling of Teresa though, I much prefer yours - and the fact that you work in law enforcement. All I need from there was a few Google searches. Really, Lisbon, a monkey could've done it. Give me some credit."

She stares at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. She's wearing more lipstick today than normal, he notes. Not that he was looking for it – naturally, the jaw drop caused him to glance at her lips, that's all. "Wow, you just have no concept of boundaries, do you?"

"Beautiful and perceptive!" Jane beams. "You're a catch, Lisbon, honestly. What do you say we get dinner tonight to celebrate?"

(Unfortunately, this does not count as 'actually asking her out', considering it's about the third time he's made the offer and for some reason, she seems to see it as a new way of mocking her. )

(It's probably because he's never actually said it in a way that wasn't hidden between banter and casual flirtation. But. Jane's not really into the whole vulnerability thing.)

Lisbon narrows her eyes at him. "Just give me my coffee."

"The words every man longs to hear." He sighs but obediently grabs down a cup. "You're so demanding, Lisbon. I can't imagine that goes down well with your boyfriend." Almost immediately, he regrets it – up until now, he'd decided to employ a 'don't ask, don't tell' tactic with the man in question. Jane blames the new lipstick. Lisbon really does have a very nice mouth.

"I don't have a boyfriend." She chews on her lower lip in contemplation. Jane carefully puts down the mug in case he passes out. "And didn't you just ask me to dinner? Why would you do that if you thought I had a boyfriend?"

"I'm a believer in equal opportunity." He shrugs and tries not to look too thrilled at this revelation but still: "Not tall, dark and hungry? He came in with you a few weeks ago and nearly inhaled our entire pastry selection. Unfortunate, really, considering the time of year."

At that, she actually chokes on her coffee, before spluttering, "Rigsby? No! I'm his boss. Anyway, he's far too hung up on Van Pelt."

'Van Pelt?" He repeats, wonderingly. "Is a requirement that all you cops have to have strange names? Van Pelt, Lisbon and Rigsby. You should start a band."

Lisbon scowls at him.

"Well, someone's heart definitely isn't growing three sizes today." Jane pouts, before leaning under the counter to produce a rather battered Santa hat. He'd been planning to wear it himself, as soon as the after-school crowd traipsed in, but this idea is now much more appealing. "I think you need more Christmassy cheer."

Lisbon's eyes widen.

"No. Way. In Hell."

"Liiiiisbon." Jane holds out the hat beseechingly. "Pretty please?"

"Sure," She says. "I'll just explain to my boss, my very serious California Bureau of Investigation boss, that I am choosing not to adhere to the dress code he set in place because a crazy guy in a coffee shop said please."

"That's the spirit!" He crows and leans over to plop the hat on her head. It immediately falls down over her eyes and Jane chuckles before propping the brim up, one hand sweeping back the hair off her neck in order to balance it better. Lisbon bites her lip again, the Santa hat the exact same shade of red as her lipstick, and his hand moves to rest lightly on her shoulder. His thumb brushes against the thin fabric of her blouse.

"Jane, I –"

There's a crash from a few tables over and they both leap back, turning in unison to stare at the plates now shattered on the floor. He cheerfully shrugs off the apologetic customer but is more than a little perturbed when he's forced to abandon Lisbon. Looking back over his shoulder, he watches her grab her coffee and leave, flustered. She's still wearing the hat. Jane hums happily to himself as he grabs the dust pan and broom.

(Twenty minutes later, she rushes back in and threatens to shoot both him and the hat. They compromise by having him make her a free drink later that evening and splitting an elf shaped cookie. It's one of his better Christmases to recent date.)

* * *

Cho is right, Jane decides, as the Christmas rush dies down. While the boyfriend turned out to be a false alarm, if he wants to properly win over Lisbon then he needs to change his game plan. It can be his New Years Resolution. Cho is a genius.

"This is not what I meant." Cho says, flatly.

"Oh, come on, Kimball, it's brilliant. Trust me! What could wrong?"

"Everything, generally, as soon as you say 'trust me'." Cho replies. Cho has no sense of adventure. "Besides, we don't home deliver. It's on the sign."

Jane flaps a hand dismissively. "This isn't home delivery. This is office delivery. Completely different."

Cho stares him at for a long moment and then sighs. "Fine, but wait until after the afternoon crowd leaves."

"You do know that I'm your boss, right?" Jane asks, almost out of curiosity at this point.

Cho looks up from where he's now stacking the dirty pastry plates against the sink. "Right. Sure."

The work day has never gone slower and finally, as the customers trickle down to a manageable amount, he gathers his supplies. The CBI building is easy enough to locate (in hindsight, she should've never told him her exact occupation) but finding Lisbon's actual office turns out to be a bit of a challenge. He stumbles across the kitchenette first and briefly flirts with the idea of sabotaging her other coffee sources but eventually he rounds the corner to see the words "Teresa Lisbon, Senior Agent" emblazoned upon a door at the back of the bullpen. He feels a strange sense of second-hand pride as he weaves his way through the subordinate desks and imagines the petite woman presiding over them all, her team snapping to attention at her word. He's never responded well to authority but he thinks Lisbon would be a good boss. Strict but fair. Loyal.

Triumphantly, he pokes his head around the corner and at first he almost misses her, the stray wisps of a brunette ponytail just sticking out from behind an impressive stack of paper. A half empty water bottle is balanced on top of the pile and when he steps inside, he can see Lisbon has toed off her (sensible) work shoes, feet curled up beneath her as she peers at a page of notes. It makes a rather painfully adorable picture and he's once again assured of the excellency of this plan.

"Burning the midnight oil, my dear?" Jane asks and she nearly falls out of her chair.

"Jane!" Lisbon yelps. "How did you get in here? I mean – you don't have clearance - we have security."

"Lisbon." He says, slightly offended, and after a moment she nods in reluctant agreement.

"Still," She continues, clinging firmly to her sense of moral higher ground. "You can't be here. I'm doing work. You're a civilian and this," She gestures to the paper now strewn across her desk, "is all classified. I'm sorry, you have to leave."

"Oh, play nice, I brought you caffeine." He plays his trump card, pulling the travel cup out in a flourish from where he'd hidden it in his jacket pocket.

She shakes her head. "I'm not even going to ask how you did that. Do you hide live animals in there too?" Still, Lisbon reaches out to take the cup and, blowing on his hands to cool them down, he settles back on her conveniently placed couch.

She opens her mouth to protest again and Jane sighs. "I just rode an elevator six floors with a beverage slowly burning into my thigh. Please, can I sit for a bit?"

"Well, when you put it like that." Lisbon tilts her head to the side, considering, and then, "Okay, but just for a few minutes though. I mean it, Jane."

Waving a hand in what could've been a gesture of compliance if it hadn't come from him, Jane snuggles back into the upholstery, smiling at the faint scent of cinnamon that lingers. It's just been a little over twenty minutes and he's starting to drift off when Lisbon gives a disgusted huff and he hears the unmistakable sound of chair legs scraping back with a bit too much force to not be deliberate. Jane opens his eyes as she flops down next to him on the couch.

"I'm stuck," She admits. "I know this guy did it but there's absolutely no concrete evidence linking him." She rubs her temples in frustration, "I also have no idea why I'm telling you this. Blame the sleep deprivation."

"I could take a look," He says, "I have got a pretty good eyes for these things –" but she's shooting the offer down almost before he's even finished speaking.

"No, you can't! Jane, that would be crossing so much ethical boundaries, not to mention legal ones." Ah. She thinks that will deter him. Cute.

"Relax, woman, no one will know. Besides, I'd just peek at the file. It's not like I'd actually go the crime scene. Pinky promise."

Lisbon scoffs at that, rolling her eyes as though there's no way he'd be able to contain himself from further snooping if he was interested. She's kind of got a point. "In that case, why would you even need to see the file, hotshot? You are the psychic, aren't you?"

"I'm not psychic, they're not real." Jane says, the sentence rolling off his tongue like the world's worst broken record. It's a far harsher tone than he's ever taken with Lisbon and she recoils, clearly taken aback. And why wouldn't she, because she's never seen this side to him - she knows cajoling, charismatic, a pain in my ass barista Jane who remembers puns to make her smile and brings her coffee at almost midnight. She doesn't know this Jane. Not the Jane that Sophie Miller dragged back to civilisation. Still, because she's Lisbon, she doesn't back away and instead tilts her chin up ever so slightly in defiance. "I never said they were. But you certainly enjoy playing at one, don't you?"

Jane's vision skitters for just a moment there, blurring at the edges, because he knows she didn't meant as anything other than a sharp retort but its worst sentence she could've choose now it's Angie he can hear, pleading with him. He sucks in an uneasy breath and he can faintly hear Lisbon's voice calling to him.

Something hits him hard in the face and he jerks back, clarity rushing ice cold back over him. Lisbon is standing over him, concerned. It would appear she's just emptied the contents of her water bottle over him. "Jeez, I'm so sorry," She kneels in front of him, gently dabbing his face dry with her sleeve cuff. It's the closest they've been and Jane has to resist the temptation to reach up and catch her wrist. "I couldn't think of anything else to do. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." He ducks his head, horribly embarrassed. "I'm fine. It's only water. And a little unnecessary, perhaps." He runs a hand through damp curls. "I'll have to remember how vicious you get if people don't immediately reply."

"That's not what I meant," She says, her face pinched with worry. Lisbon pushes up from the floor and sits beside him. "Where'd you go just then?" She puts a hand on his shoulder. "Jane, I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

He'll never admit it to anyone but it's that sentence – I'm your friend –, spoken with such firm conviction, that breaks him and the words begin to spill out.

"Before the coffee shop, I used to do psychic readings," He says, slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, as if the physical pain can reduce the emotional. "Not real ones, obviously. I was a fraud. I didn't get that famous, most people have never heard of me, but I was on my way to a bigger career. I was married then, with a little girl." He pauses. Lisbon's eyebrows shoot up but she stays quiet. "One night, I had a – big break, you might call it. I was going to appear on a television show to talk about the serial killer Red John."

"I've heard of him," Lisbon says. "I think SAC PD is working that."

"Well, I was meant to pick up Charlotte from a dance recital that night. Angela had been telling me for weeks and I promised I would but then I – I didn't." He breaks off again, his eyes shutting briefly. When he continues, it's in detached, clinical terms: "I was on my way to the studio when I got the call. Angela had gone to get Charlotte. It was raining and she lost control of the car. I cancelled the interview and went straight to the hospital but it was too late. They both died."

"Jane," Lisbon whispers, "I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head immediately, hackles rising again. "It was my fault. Save your sympathy for them."

She frowns at him, shaking her head almost as insistently, and he can almost see her mother hen defences settling into place. "No, it wasn't. You said it yourself; you went straight to the hospital. You couldn't have known. It was a tragedy, Jane, not anyone's fault."

He gestures to the gold cross around her neck. "And here I would've thought you'd be all for divine retribution, Saint Teresa." Again, the words come out twisted, bitter and sardonic, as opposed to the light-hearted quip he'd been aiming for.

"I'm going to forgive you for that slight against my faith and me as a person because I know you're upset," Lisbon says, stoutly, "but do it again and you can leave."

Suitably chastised, Jane nods. It's not that he's believes a word of what she's said about his culpability (he's to blame, he'll always be to blame, and he's never going to forget it) but personal attacks are hardly the way to return Lisbon's good grace. "Six months ago, they'd been gone almost a year and I still wore my wedding ring. But I took it off one afternoon to wash up and I … decided it was time. And it was, it just – hurts sometimes still."

"Of course. Jane, healing isn't static. It takes time." She says. "Some things we mourn for the rest of our lives. We keep on living but that doesn't mean we ever forget." Hesitantly, she reaches out and laces her fingers with his. "I think you're doing pretty good."

"Thanks, Teresa," Jane mutters and she shrugs, her reaction delayed as though she didn't realise that that meant her, and he supposes that makes sense. She's probably referred to under some kind of title at work and for the past few months they've been Jane-and-Lisbon to such an extent that anything else, Patrick-and-Teresa perhaps, has been swept aside. He squeezes her hand tight and averts his gaze again, too choked up for anything more. Lisbon (no, Teresa) seems to understand that and after a moment she pulls back, folding her hands quietly in her lap. It's likely that her words came from a place deeper than just compassion, that she has some hidden trauma of her own, but tonight isn't the time to ask.

"I should go," He says, voice rough. "Uh, I'll see you tomorrow? I mean – It's Tuesday and usually –" He's never felt so tongue tied before in his life, except for perhaps when proposing to Angie.

"Of course," Teresa answers, quickly. She smiles softly at him. "I'd miss Cho if I didn't."

Jane sighs, deep and theatrical and endlessly thankful to her for giving him this olive branch of their usual banter. "I always knew there was something between you two. The strong and silent types. They get the women every time."

Teresa laughs him out of her office.

(As much as he'd hoped it wouldn't be, it is still a little awkward the following afternoon – for the first time in months, Teresa hovers for a second in the doorway instead of her usual march up the counter. She recovers quickly though, her shoulders straightening in that way he's come to know means business, and, as she's leaving, asks, "So, how much do I have to pay for the office delivery?"

He grins, wide and genuine and happy, and she smiles like a second chance . "For you, dear, it's on the house. Just don't tell Cho.")

* * *

Life carries on as normal: Teresa buys coffee, Jane makes her cup disappear then won't give it back because 'a magician never reveals his secrets', and neither ever mention that night in her office, although he does find himself making increasingly frequent trips out there to deliver her drinks and making up excuses nap on her couch. She still refuses to let him look at any case files but will let him spin tales about the customers he served that day to make her laugh. It's not even that he wants to see the files out of curiosity (okay, not entirely, although that's a definite factor), he just hates seeing her look so tired and, well, settled in a place that really shouldn't be her only sanctuary. He gets the feeling that Teresa's home might be almost be as bare as his is now - the only photograph that he can see on her desk is of a dog and he knows she doesn't own one. That thought makes him incredibly annoyed at the world because if anyone deserves happiness in their life, it's her.

This night in particular, she's just let out her third yawn, hand straying up again to massage her neck, and Jane jumps abruptly to his feet.

"You need a break." He announces, crossing over to her.

"Sure, Jane," Teresa says, her tone entering just that side of snippy. "I'll take a break. Let's just go let all the criminals of the world know, shall we?"

He simply smiles at her and spins her desk chair around to face him. "Play a game of cards with me."

"Cards?" She repeats, raising an eyebrow.

"Cards." He affirms, nodding enthusiastically. "If you win, I'll leave you alone for the night and your next Bear Claw will be on the house. I win, you go home for the evening and sleep. Honestly, woman, the bags under your eyes."

"Charming."

"Oh, hush, you know you're still attractive. But even officers of the law still need their beauty sleep. Come on." Ignoring her squawk of protest, he promptly wheels her back around to where he'd been couch napping. Hooking his ankle around the nearest chair leg to make sure she remains by his side, Jane digs around in his pocket for a deck of cards ("Of course you'd keep them on hand"). He shuffles them briefly and then begins to deal, one card at a time, pitching his voice just right.

"Now, watch very carefully Lisbon, because slight of hand is just one oh my many talents and who knows what trickery I might get up to. You want that Bear Claw, don't you? I know you definitely want to beat me. Watch the cards now, one and two, one and two, one and two -"

By the time the last card is dealt, Teresa is slumped in her chair, eyes shut and breathing soundly. He smiles and quickly sweeps the cards back into his hand. Straightening up, he shrugs off his jacket. It's not especially cold outside and, considering she's probably already going to be mad at him for the hypnotism, he figures it's best not to leave her with a crick in her neck. Folding his jacket, he carefully places the makeshift pillow behind her head. He pauses for a second and then, ever so quickly, presses a light kiss to her forehead and slips out the door.

Jane's wiping down the counter the following afternoon when familiar sound of Teresa's voice drifts through the store and he looks up just in time to see her enter, Rigsby and a redhead (Van Pelt, assumedly) following close behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rigsby gesture his way, with a mutter to Van Pelt about late night visits, and realizes that they might've not been as subtle as first thought.

Oblivious to or simply ignoring her coworkers knowing glances, Teresa immediately makes a beeline for him. "I should be mad at you," She begins and he smirks. At this point in their friendship, that's pretty much her standard opening line. "But, I'm feeling somewhat generous considering this is the most rested I've felt since Harrigan accidentally mislabeled the decaf. Never again though, Patrick!"

She smiles, finger held up in mock warning, as she rejoins her coworkers and for a second, he's dumbstruck. She'd called him Patrick. There's nothing special about this day in particular, not really. It's a Friday evening and the sky is overcast, with people piling into huddle around warm mugs and heaters. (He does not remember installing these. Cho is taking over.) He's not even one hundred per cent sure what the date is. But then Teresa moves back into his line of sight, her green blazer contrasting prettily with pale skin, and, all of a sudden, he's dropping the dishtowel and walking determinedly around the counter towards her.

"Hey, Teresa," Patrick says, conversationally, looking for all the world as though he's going to greet her like any other day. He's not. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

The coffee shop immediately falls silent because all his regular customers are horrid traitors and also because, according to Cho, they've had a pool running on him and Teresa since the second week. Teresa, who is currently alternating between blanching white and blushing a deep red at an almost impressive rate.

"Very funny, Jane," She stammers, looking at her subordinates in horror. Admittedly this is perhaps not the best timing but he doesn't want to wait anymore. He's never claimed not be a selfish man. "Why, is that something you're likely to be doing?" She gives a rather hysterical little laugh, as though she honestly thinks this is just another joke they're sharing rather than the most important thing he's ever going to do.

"Yes," He nods, taking a step towards her. "Yes, it is something I am very likely to do, probably in about five seconds, unless you stop me." (Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that its not really worth that much to predict caffeine orders when he can't for the life of him tell what she is going to say next).

"Oh." Her eyes widen, almost comically, as though she'd really thought he was just kidding like always, as though she doesn't realise how smitten he is with her, and, then, beneath the surprise, there's a flicker of hope – that's all he needs. He takes another step forward, tilts her chin up with one finger and kisses her. Immediately, she rises up on her toes and kisses him back with no small amount of force, twisting her hands in the fabric of his jacket to pull him closer. She tastes like coffee and strawberry chapstick and exhilaration. One of his hands is buried in her hair while the other palms her side, pushing her hips up and against his own, and the shudder that runs through her when he does so is more than enough reward. He's just about to investigate that further (it's entirely possible he's trying to show off a little here) when, dimly, he recognises the sound of Cho's voice reminding them that this is a family establishment.

"Yes," He says, pulling back slightly. Several people are clapping, Van Pelt included. Rigsby appears to be choking on pastry. "We'll going then. Right now. Cho, can you cover my shift?"

And then, as Cho asks what exactly he is excepted to cover considering Jane has never worked a proper shift in his life, he grabs Teresa's hand and practically sprints to his car.


End file.
